The F Word
by Dena Gray
Summary: <html><head></head>Professor Snape catches Hermione in the absolute worst possible circumstances, time and time again. Is it the work of a vindictive third year, or could it be something much, much bigger? Rated M for 45 uses of the 'f' word and light frotting. AU/EWE, Hogwarts 8th year SSHG -COMPLETE!</html>
1. Chapter 1

This story is inspired by a list of the 17 most epic detentions ever on some site like reddit or imgur or something. I really don't know. I think I found it on facebook. Anway, I thought it might be a hoot to write :) Let me know what you think and I'll be posting new chapters soon. The first three or four are written and then it's a reader's choice as to where it goes! ;) Enjoy!

**The "F" Word**

Chapter 1

Hermione Granger was an altogether..._together_ sort of girl, so it would come as a great surprise to know that she _could_ fall apart. What would be an even greater surprise, was the knowledge that when Hermione Granger fell apart, it carried the completely surprising possibility of becoming utterly _catastrophic_ in proportion.

So it was, in her last year at Hogwarts, on a Tuesday – unremarkable for any other reason – Hermione Granger fell apart _catastrophically_.

She'd started the day normally, with oatmeal, fruit and juice. Scanning the Great Hall, she saw the only other early risers were a fellow Gryffindor third year, and Professors Snape and Hooch. After nodding to them in turn, she went back to her meal, which promptly spilled down the front of her uniform shirt. Sighing collectedly, she carefully placed her transfiguration notes back into her bag and unintentionally dog-eared and wrinkled a page.

Damn.

Ah well, she thought, and made her way back up to her room to change her shirt. Unfortunately, the only shirt she had clean at the moment was one from last year, which was a conspicuous size smaller than her chest needed this year. Rolling her eyes at such a line of misfortune, she quickly zapped the shirt with a slight engorgement charm and put it on.

As she redressed and made it back down to the common room, she saw her friends sitting lazily by the fire, talking about quidditch. Smiling to herself for their predictability, she walked over and greeted them. "Morning, Harry, Ron...Ginny. Have you eaten breakfast already?"

Harry and Ginny smirked at her from their very cozy sofa, but Ron rolled his head back on the wingchair he was currently slouching in and grumbled, "Hermione, it's barely seven o'clock, we just got up."

Perturbed at his less-than-respectful tone, she glared a bit at him and responded civilly, "Well, _some_ people like to get a head start on things. This is our last year and-"

"_'We really need to make an effort' _yeah, you told us."

Her mouth dropped open, "Well that was just rude."

Harry apparently felt the same way Ron did. "It's October, Hermione. Not even Christmas hols. We've still got the whole year ahead of us."

Still confused at this line of thought, she rejoined with, "But Harry, we're a whole year behind everyone else. We've got to set an example."

"You're Head Girl, _you _set an example. I don't think I need to worry about that, what with killing Voldemort, and all."

Ron and Ginny both snickered at Harry's nonchalant attitude. The breakfast bell rung, so she turned to head out in an attempt to _not_ tear into them for being so irresponsible to their futures.

"Wait...Hermione!"

She turned in a flounce, waiting for whatever baiting they'd try next. Harry stepped up to her and asked quietly, "Have you heard from Rowan University, yet?"

Biting her lips together in anguish, she shook her head in the negative. Fifteen applications out to wizarding universities, fourteen returned and _one—_the one she really wanted to attend—had not replied to her yet, and her acceptance deadlines were quickly approaching.

At Harry's sympathetic grimace, she weakly smiled and left the common room.

Transfiguration went pretty much the same as always, with Hermione proudly performing top of the class, until the surprise pop quiz Professor McGonagall set out with fifteen minutes left in the session.

She was still agonizing over one question's correct answer when time was up and the professor Accio'd the parchments to her desk. A stern look from her favorite professor let her know that, No, she couldn't finish writing her answer.

Perhaps she'd used that request up a few times too many.

This just wasn't turning out to be her day.

Her next class was Potions. Oh, Lord, what would be in store for her there? She hurriedly made her way down, down, down the moving staircases with as much care as possible. It always took the full ten minute break between classes to get from the Transfigurations classroom to the dungeons and the Potions classroom, so she always had to hurry.

Thankfully, she had no mishap on the stairs, but just as she landed on the bottom floor of the ancient castle, a loud scuffle took place to her right. Students were fighting in the corridors!

"Stop that! No fighting in the school, you stop that right this instant! Ten points from Hufflepuff!"

They neither heard her nor apparently cared and continued their physical disagreement. She set her bag on the floor by the wall and marched up to separate the scrappy little second years with her bare hands. Magic wasn't allowed in the corridors, even for the Head Girl.

"Gerroff! It's his fault, he hit me first!"

"Shut up, I did not! And you called me a—"

She pushed them apart again and raised her voice, "I don't care what you did or what you said. You need to stop fighting in the hallway. Another ten points from Hufflepuff for disobeying authority."

Well, that got their attention. She relaxed a little and started back to pick up her bag when the telltale sound of a spell flicked into the back of her mind. Immediately, and faster than she would have expected four months after the final battle, she drew her wand and cast a directional shield over her and the remaining students in the corridor. Unfortunately for her, the apparent Finite Incantatem tossed back from behind the shield rebounded and hit her flat in the chest.

Everyone ran and she was left with the feeling of being lightly slapped in the chest. She shook her head, picked up her bag and the first thing that happened was that her strap broke and all of her study notes and books dropped heavily to the floor, scattering into a five foot radius.

This just was not her day!

Taking a moment for self pity, she distractedly raised her hand to rub at the part of her breastbone where the spell had hit her...

...and felt her skin.

"What?" Quickly looking down and bringing both hands up to her chest, she realized the Finite that hit her had canceled the engorgement spell and abruptly popped the front of her shirt open. She was late to Potions already! There was no time to run get a new shirt!

Overcome by everything that just happened _wrong_ with this day, Hermione felt tears well up in her eyes. Dropping back against the wall, she tipped her head against it and yelled out a very loud and plaintive: "FUCK!"

Of course...her luck wasn't completely gone yet. It just wasn't the _good_ luck she needed.

No, _good _luck would have had _any _other professor step into the hallway just then. _Good _luck would have had Professor Snape ignore the scuffle he'd heard and proceed with teaching his class. Unfortunately, _good_ luck was not on her side, today. _Bad_ luck, however, _was._

"_What_ is the meaning of this profane out...burst..."

He came out of his class, slamming the door behind him, with a look of pure, unabated fury. What expression ended up on his face was something a mortified Hermione would likely not soon forget. As soon as he looked around the hallway and found the only possible source for the expletive that had rung so strongly through the corridors, he'd been absolutely rigid with disappointment and anger. When he stopped to actually _look_ at what he was seeing, his face blanked into shock, with his eyes riveted to Hermione's very full, very exposed bosom. She was sure he could even see the little purple bow on the centerpiece of the lavender lace brassiere as she tried in vain to pull her shirt together.

What surprised her was the immediate turn from shock to desperate concern on Professor Snape's face as he rushed towards her, conjuring a blanket and spreading it out between them to wrap around her. The concern in his voice was hypnotic, "Miss Granger, are you hurt? Were you attacked?"

She blinked up at him and could _not,_ for the life of her, form a reply. So shocked was she at Professor Snape's rapid change in demeanor, combined with the further shock of actual, gentle _concern_, that she was rendered momentarily speechless.

He was even gracious enough to give her a moment to formulate her response. When it didn't come, he narrowed his eyes—again in concern—and used his wand to fix her bag, then reorder her notes and books back into it.

Peering at her again, he tried a different route, "Do I need to call for Madame Pomfrey?"

Oh, God, he was totally taking this the wrong way and all she could think about was his very, very interesting concern. Was it for her, or for any female? She knew from experience that he was gallant and chivalric and all those wonderful things a gentleman should be...but she wondered if this was for _her..._

Unfortunately, she needed to get her head out of the clouds and respond to him before he made it worse.

Slowly, she shook her head in the negative, gulped, and admitted her little private hell of a truth, "I'm sorry, sir. I'm fine, there's been no attack." He stepped further away and drew himself up in a defensive confusion. She pushed on, "I...I've had a really, really, really bad day and when my shirt broke, that was just _it."_

Relief and sympathy seemed to war for a moment across his face, but he clamped down on that quickly and addressed her in a regretful tone. "Be that as it may, students are not allowed disruptive outbursts. Especially profane ones, and _most_ especially from the Head Girl."

She nodded and waited for her punishment, drawing the conjured blanket around her shoulders with a shiver.

Their eyes met and an odd bit of magic—the muggle kind—lit between them before he continued hesitantly, "Twenty points from Gryffindor and detention with me, tonight. We shall discuss this after dinner. In the meantime," his eyes raked down her body and little bells trembled somewhere in her heart, "you are excused from this class to alleviate your wardrobe...malfunction. You'll make the class up in detention."

While she would normally balk at such a loss of points, it was not beyond her notice that he was being extremely generous. Just as he was turning away to return to class, she called out to him, "Professor?"

He stopped and turned back to her in small degrees, revealing his distinctive profile before raising an eyebrow to her in question.

Her voice was a bit shaky as she said it, but she made sure to meet his eyes and _mean_ it, "Thank you."

_Thank you for being concerned, for caring at all, for helping, for the blanket, for letting me go now and for letting me make up the class later, for suddenly being interesting_...she really could go on, but all she said, again, was, "Thank you."

His eyebrow dropped slowly as he apparently registered all the possible hidden meanings in her thanks, conveyed with her eyes, her face, and her body language. He blinked and his face went blank for a short moment before nodding once, graciously, in welcome.

His robes billowed around the corner in his abrupt departure, the door slamming once again in his wake as he exited the hallway.

With a considerable amount of thinking to do, Hermione tightened her hold on the blanket and shouldered her bag. It was a long way back up to Gryffindor Tower, but she took her time, taking it to organize her thoughts about what just happened...and what she wanted to do about it. Nevermind that she tripped three times and scraped the heel of her hand on her way up.


	2. Chapter 2

anti-litigation charm: I own none of this, I only play in JKR's sandbox, thanks!

A/N: You guys have been amazing with your welcoming words! I'm so glad you're liking it so far! I got some really awesome feedback from Yiggersentia on how to "end" the story, and I think you guys'll like it too! ;) We're looking at five chapters _more_ written already, with probably another two after that :D That being said, I hope you didn't think I was done with Hermione's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day ;) _(ref: Judith Viorst) _Of course...not all change of luck is bad...

**Chapter 2**

Hermione's luck did not change that day. It seemed that fate was playing around with her and just for the fun of it, decided to throw a few Fizzing Whizbees her way as well.

Literally.

Unfortunately, and as the day's theme was playing out, those sweets went directly into her pumpkin juice at lunch and without her notice. She only tasted it after the third sip and by that time, she was floating off the bench and hastily grabbing the hem of her skirt.

Humiliating laughter rang out as everyone at lunch saw the Head Girl floating up, up, and up, then tipping by accident, thereby revealing her lavender lace knickers to the entire school. Tears dripped down her nose as she caught sight of Professor Snape grimacing in pity again. Well, at least now he knew the extent of her coordinating lingerie. God! At that morbid thought, she hiccoughed, sobbed, and fell to the floor with a loud _whump!_

Ignoring the gentle reach of Madam Pomfrey who'd come to help, she quickly scampered over to her bookbag and ran out the door. If she'd been a bit slower, she might have heard both Professor Snape and Madam Pomfrey sharply reprimand the students for finding humor in humiliation. She _might_ even have seen the look of abject horror on the face of a third year Gryffindor sitting a bit off from the ruckus.

Hermione slowed her escape as she reached the Arithmancy classroom, hiding in an alcove until it was time to enter class. Professor Vector would surely not be long, right? Sitting down carefully, minding the dull ache in her right rump, she pulled out her last bit of homework to review it before handing it in, but couldn't concentrate.

The day's horrid events were swimming through her brain and she had no idea how to take it all in...it was almost as if she'd been cursed.

She blinked. Had she been?

No...nothing seemed to be out of place. Then again, she'd not closely monitored her food and drink, as it was the responsibility of the House Elves to do so. Of course, that didn't stop another student from adding something in once it was served...

Surely one of her own housemates wouldn't be so vindictive, and she couldn't think of anyone she'd especially ticked off since the beginning of term, so...

Who and How?

Of course, she could just be having that rotten of a day.

She snorted, deciding to think on it later, and became absorbed in re-reading her homework.

A hand shook her awake...was it time to get up? Shaking her head and feeling extremely sore from sleeping in the hallway— "Oh, Fuck!"

She'd slept right through Arithmancy! Her heart was pounding in her throat, blood racing in her ears as she scrambled to pull her homework together. A voice interrupted her slow realization that it was dark outside...

"Language, again, Miss Granger. I shouldn't hear such pejorative language from Hogwarts' Head Girl."

It was Professor Snape. Of course it was. And she was probably late for her detention with him, which meant she wouldn't be able to ask him about his referral to Rowan, she wouldn't be able to make up his class, and she probably lost the opportunity of a day's grade in Arithmancy, as well.

With a seething, whining growl, she stood up and slapped the wall, crying another profanity as she did so.

"You're really pushing your limits with me, today, Granger. That's the third time you've spoken out of line in my presence—"

That was just IT! She quickly whirled on him, interrupting his lecture with her own biting tone, "You know what, Professor? After the day I've had, you can stick it in your ear!"

"My _what?_"

"Your. EAR!"

She should have been shocked at his snort of laughter, but it just drove her further down the cliffs of insanity. "I've been poisoned, dripped on, beaten, hit with unintentional magic, gotten detention, broken two articles of clothing and or baggage, exposed every bit of my very personal lingerie selection to a _teacher_, been tripped, fell, scraped my hand, and missed _two_ classes in one day. I've still not heard from Rowan University, and I'm sure it's all your fault! So if you don't want to hear me yell 'FUCK' at the top of my lungs, you can just bloody well _plug your ears_!"

She was winded from her excellent speech and it felt fantastic to get that out...but...she groaned. She really shouldn't have done that in front of a teacher. Especially _this_ teacher. She covered her face with her hands and leaned back against the wall in despair.

It was perhaps a few moments more before she heard the incredibly surprising sound of a very even-tempered Professor Snape responding to her, "Are you finished?"

Peeking at him from between her fingers in mortification, she replied with a muffled, "Yes."

His arms were crossed over his chest and he was looking down his great nose at her. "Do you feel better?"

She kept her fingers over her face, nodded and said "yes" again.

Somehow he got even taller, lifted his chin up even more, and said, "Then you can march your lavender-clad bum down to the dungeons for your _late_ detention."

She waited...and waited...was that all? No points deduction? She lowered her hands and blinked at him in amazement, then realized with a fierce blush that he'd just referred to the color of her knickers.

Groaning again, she leaned over to pick up her bag, but was stopped by his hand on her arm. "Fix your skirt, for heaven's sake."

Confused, she looked down to find, "Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me! Those little shits!"

Her skirt was only just barely covering the tops of her thighs, apparently the victim of a tailoring charm from some evil little cretin that had been passing her by while she was asleep in the corridor.

She blushed harder and looked up to Professor Snape, now standing within arm's reach of her. "I can't. No magic in the corridors."

He closed his eyes in barely concealed frustration, "After that outburst, you're going to tell me you're concerned with _that_ right now?"

Ah. Well, he did have a point. She let out a shaky, short burst of a sigh and with her wand, lengthened her skirt appropriately.

"Now," he said, his voice dropping into a silky tone that sent shivers up and down her spine, "_march._"

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><p>AN: Short, but I needed the break there :D I hope you like it, and please let me know what you think! xoxo Dena

PS: I won't be able to update for a few days, but I will be back next week with more!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: this goes out to all my wonderful friends on facebook, that threatened me with all sorts of things to try and get this out sooner than Tuesday ;) Ladies, I found the internet in the middle of camping just to make you happy (which in turn makes me happy!) Read on!

**Chapter 3**

She obeyed and led the way down to the dungeons, but after a few minutes of companionable silence, she turned to him and stated, "You know, you really shouldn't be mentioning the color of my knickers."

He sneered along side her but didn't turn his head as he kept walking. "I don't think I need a lecture from _you_ about appropriate behavior."

Hermione took that for what it was, but rejoined after a few moments. "You have to give me some leeway, Professor." She banked on him not looking and rolled her eyes, "Even you have to admit I've had a crap day."

She got an eyebrow out of him for that one. "Even I? And what is that supposed to imply?"

Backpedaling what he may have possibly taken as an insult, she quickly explained, "I mean that you've been there, seeing quite a bit of...um...of what's happened to me." And he'd seen quite a bit of her undergarments, too, but the less said on that, the better.

He grunted in a non-response and waved his wand to open the classroom door. "In."

Ducking her head in defeat, she stepped into the classroom to await her instruction for detention. As he closed the door, she stood still, taking in the familiar surroundings of the Potions classroom. It surprised everyone when Professor Snape took back his old position, but the rumor mill stated that he'd only wanted the DADA position because he wanted to prepare the students for what was to come. She turned to look at him, wondering what the real answer to that question was.

When she turned to see him, it was to find him looking back at her with an evaluating, calculating stare. Hermione was caught by surprise at this and blushed. What could he possibly be thinking about? Surely there were cauldrons to scrub or ingredients to sort.

It was, perhaps, a full minute of standing there before he inhaled sharply, "Yes, I think that will do."

Perplexed, she watched him swing his wand arm deftly, moving the first row of worktables to make room for sliding the chalkboard more into the room, widening it, and cleaning it. That done, he turned abruptly and pointed his thumb behind him to the chalkboard, indicating she walk up to it.

She was still confused, but went up and took the chalk in hand, looking at him expectantly.

He nodded slightly and explained, "I want you to write the word 'fuck' on the board as small as ledgibly possible, then fill the entire board with it."

Her eyebrows hit her fringe. "P-pardon?"

He glared at her and she turned back to the very large chalkboard, then proceeded to scratch out the word 'fuck' in half-inch letters. She looked to him for approval and he peered over her shoulder. Her heart beat a bit harder with him so close and she blushed, but looked directly at the board to avoid looking at him.

"You may continue."

She glanced to him, nodded and started writing as he backed slowly away to sit at his desk in view of the chalkboard. He'd know if she fudged on the writing. Sighing in defeat, she kept at it.

It was quite some time later, and the board was almost half-full, when she heard the casters on his chair squeak, indicating him standing up. He stalked back towards her, capturing her attention, and she faltered on the tail of the 'k' she'd been drawing, pulling it a bit down the board.

_Fuck._

Professor Snape snorted and she belatedly realized her verbalization of the word. She bit her lips together, erased the long line with her fingers and pointed to the board, "Can you blame me? You're kind of programming me for it, now."

There went that eyebrow again.

"Tell me, Miss Granger, how many uses of the word 'fuck' can you think of?"

Firstly, she was confused by the question, but that wasn't what froze her in her tracks. It was his _use_ of the word, the way he strung it out like it was honey on a spoon, that had her unable to talk.

His eyes focused on her like a snake stalking its prey. She swallowed and looked over to the board, then back to him.

"Well?"

Her mind raced to answer what he was asking, but could do nothing but blush again and again in answer. The word kept rolling around in her brain and the more she thought about it, and the more she thought about _him_, the more she thought of the sexual meaning of the word.

"Answer me, Miss Granger. How many uses of the word 'fuck' can you think of?"

Quickly latching on to what he was saying and not what he was implying, she counted and replied, "S-Seven."

His expression at her avoidance was not amused, "Explain them."

"Um—"

"As you keep writing."

She let out a shaky breath, "oookay." Writing a few 'fucks' down before speaking, she started with the easiest, "Exclamation, as in 'Oh, Fuck', as I did earlier."

"One."

She looked to him and he nodded to continue. "Um...Emphasis. Also, like I said earlier, as in 'you've got to be fucking kidding me'."

"Two."

She glanced at him again and he was leaning back against his desk, with his arms crossed over his chest. "Go on."

"Right...um..." Her brain flicked through different meanings, trying desperately to avoid the obvious meaning of the word. Maybe he wouldn't make her say it. "Descriptive, like 'he's a fucker'."

"Three."

"Insulting, as in 'motherfucker'."

"That doesn't count, it's the same derogatory descriptive. Three."

She cleared her throat and continued, "Confusion, as in 'what the fuck?'."

"Four."

"Surprise, as in 'fuck me'." She blushed hard at that one.

"Five...continue."

"Expressing despair, as in 'well, I'll be fucked'."

"Six. What else?"

Fighting through panic, she cast through all the possible uses and finally came up on one she'd not used that wasn't sexual in meaning, "Exclamatory, as in 'fuck you'."

"Seven, very good. You've even left the obvious out, that's impressive."

She looked to him with a weak smile, shocked that he was actually complimenting her _in detention._ He nodded to the board for her to continue. "Now...say it as you write it and don't pretend you don't know what I mean." His eyebrow made for no misunderstandings.

The capillaries in her face were going to burst with all the blushing she was doing tonight. She scratched out the next word and said, "Fuck."

"Again."

Scratch, scritch-scritch, screek, screek, scratch, stritch-screek. "Fuck."

Over and over she wrote and spoke, drawing out the lone vowel as she wrote it, "Fuuu-uuuck." She experimented with intonation, emphasis, length, speed, every possible variation of the word she could think of.

And it all made her think more and more of sex.

Now, Hermione was no virgin. God, after a year on the run with two teenage boys, who'd have even expected her to get through that with her virginity intact (she did, but that was an easier explanation than 'well, it just sort of happened one night and I have no recollection of the drunken incident and neither does Ron'). To tell the truth, she really didn't have a memory of having sex, but that didn't mean she didn't have a very vivid imagination, and right now the center of that imagination every time she repeated the word 'fuck' was the man standing not ten feet away, leaning on his desk and listening to her repeat the same word over and over again.

She felt her voice change, darken, deepen, turning into something hoarse and tired, but at the same time, husky with want. Her words changed into pleas, commands, entire dissertations on desire as she explored the different ways to say the word 'fuck' to Professor Severus Snape.

It was liberating, this exploration of the word...this compounded sexual invitation wrapped in layers of inuring repetition.

She glanced over at him and noticed that he _was_ paying attention to what she was saying and how she was saying it. _Fuck. _She smiled, knowing the word would forever have a different meaning for her, now. It would mean being caught by Professor Snape doing something naughty. It would mean him letting her get away with it and seemingly enjoying watching her do it.

She was nearing the end of the board and for no good reason, started elaborating on the word. "Fuck... fucker, fucking, fucked, fuck you..." She looked over at him as she finished the last word, "Fuck me."

Sitting the chalk nub in the bottom tray of the board, she dusted her hands together and wiped them on her skirt. Her smile faltered as she looked back up to him, his concentration fully on her. Suddenly, she wasn't sure why _the fuck_ she'd ever even tried a verbal seduction of any kind, much less a single worded attempt during a detention that she still wasn't sure whether or not it was bad luck...or good.

He stood perfectly still, no longer leaning up against his desk, arms wrapped around himself and robes draping dramatically like a tucked-in bat. Her breathing increased, became staccato, and her blush returned.

When the silence was finally so charged, she was sure she would burst with it, he broke it, saying, "Say it."

After the last hour, she really didn't need to ask him 'what'. "Fuck."

He stepped towards her, slowly, intently, "Again."

"Fuck." She gave particular care to the hard consonant at the end.

He kept walking closer, but stopped about two paces away. "What if I were to say to you that: it _is_ my fault you haven't heard from Rowan University, yet."

Her little blip of unsure flirtatiousness faltered dramatically. What did he mean? What was he saying? He said 'what if', not that it _was_ his fault. A bit of panic spread through her heart at the thought, though. Why would he have done such a thing?

He stepped closer still and stopped only one pace away. "Well? What would you say to that?"

All her mind could think was, "Fuck."

He nodded. "Precisely." Looking down to her from his superior height, he continued in spite of her begging look of denial. "Now, what would you say if I told you I had a perfectly good reason for that? That I didn't want you to go to Rowan? Hmm?"

She shook her head, still denying the damning words coming out of his mouth. "Fuck."

He nodded again. "As I thought."

Somehow, without moving his feet, he was suddenly closer to her, leaning into her space, stealing her air and she could smell his aftershave...bergamot and something like cloves. She took a deep, shaky breath and waited for him to speak again.

He didn't disappoint her. "Taking that into consideration, I understand you have a ridiculous number of acceptances from wizarding universities from around the world. I also understand that all of them are acceptances into their Potions Mastery programs." He paused and she didn't dare to respond. If she said anything other than 'fuck', would he somehow stop those other universities from accepting her? Would he stop...whatever this was?

Her body was quickly becoming drugged by the tension, lack of air, and overwhelming presence of Severus Snape.

He continued. "What I don't understand, is why you never once took advantage of the most favored and quickest way to obtain a Potions Mastery: an apprenticeship."

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><p>AN: Okay, my lovelies! That's it for a few more days! Go on, threaten me...I love it, masochistic thing that I am ;) and please let me know what you think so far! What'll happen next? I know what, but I'd like to hear what you think! Xoxo Dena


	4. Chapter 4

Okay! Hi again! You know, I really thought I was going to write a lot more than this, but I think I like it ending where it does (at the end of this chapter). You can imagine all the wonderful things that happen afterwards, if you like ;) Thank you everyone for your wonderful words of encouragement, and your creative threats! I love you all and...read on!

**Chapter 4**

The look on his face...the sneer fading away to desperately hide the hurt and disappointment in his expression, was very nearly devastating to Hermione. She'd never once in a million years thought he'd accept her as an apprentice. He'd never taken anyone on for as long as he'd taught at Hogwarts – she'd checked in the Library. Had she somehow hurt his feelings in not even asking for it?

She tried to express her despair and repentance in a single word, "Fuck."

He cocked his head and stared at her, as if he were some bird of prey and she was some interesting little rodent ready to be eaten.

The desperation lurking behind his fierce gaze was hypnotic. "Why _didn't_ you ask me for an apprenticeship? And don't answer with 'fuck' or I won't even listen to your real answer."

Open-mouthed, she shook her head in amazement. "I—I honestly didn't think you _took_ apprentices. You never have before."

"I would have made an exception for you."

"Why?"

Suddenly, her question was too intimate. His frustration was heaping up on him and he closed his eyes, running his fingers through his lank hair. "Why, she asks. For the same reason I've never taken an apprentice before. No one else was worth the effort."

He broke off and stared at her, daring her to ask him to repeat what he'd just admitted.

Hermione stood still, shocked, confused, completely unsure where this detention...this conversation was going. He said he would have made an exception for her because she was the only one worth his effort. With the collision of doubt and giddiness warring in her brain, the only word that kept floating to the forefront was another 'f' word: _Finally!_

_He's finally recognizing my efforts! He does see me! Finally! Finally!_

They stood still, staring at each other in the silence, waiting for the other to break it, make it normal again. She couldn't dare let it go back to normal, now, so she decided to say something, "Do you mean it?"

God, _dumb_ question, Hermione! Why would he say it if he didn't mean it!

His nostrils flared but he did not respond. The answer was evident, wasn't it?

She cast about for something else, something less stupid, "If—if I applied to you, would you accept?"

She could practically feel the fear in her expression. Perhaps it was that which convinced him of her sincerity, for after inhaling slowly and relaxing his shoulders back, he croaked out a quiet but emotional, "Yes."

His answer was surprisingly full of emotion and Hermione stared at her dark professor, thinking through all the signals he'd been sending her this day. She carefully whittled down every happening and her body trembled with the possibility that perhaps he...

Drawing in a deep breath, she cast out a single question to seek any other reason than what he'd already stated for wanting her as an apprentice, "Why?" If he even hinted at something akin to what had been burning through her dreams and breaking into reality today, then she swore, she'd tell him the real reason she'd not applied to be his apprentice.

His surprise and confusion was evident in his expression, and he glared at her as if she were being deliberately obtuse. She panicked and elaborated, "Is there any..._other_ reason you might want to..._keep_ me here?" There, that was as far as she was willing to put her meaning into words without some greater sign from him.

He just shifted backwards, standing tall and pulling his dignity around himself like his robes in a protective layer. Maybe she should put her meaning out there again in a different way, but then, what if he laughed? What if he rejected her? She'd be without any recommendation at all...but then she _did_ have fourteen other colleges and universities ready to accept her. What it really came down to was, which was worth more to her: Rowan's program, or a chance to find out what Professor..._Severus_ thought of her...

A tiny bit of bravado left in her sparked at the thought that she may not have an opportunity like this again, that she should take it with both hands. Any kind of rejection today would not fare well for her original plan to seek him out after graduation. The fear that resided in her after the Final Battle kept her from grabbing the opportunity with _both_ hands, so she tried one more tactic. "Because...I ask you because—"

She broke off when his eyes unfroze a bit to actually seem interested in what she had to say. Her mouth hung open as she firmed up her strength to continue, "I had another reason for not applying to you." She tried desperately to give meaning to her words through a beseeching gaze, but Professor Snape's own eyes darkened into anger. Hermione panicked again, reached out with her hand and blurted out, "I mean, I can't imagine the board would allow a relationship between Master and Apprentice and I...I would like—I wanted to—"

He stepped directly into her space and she inhaled again the spicy, heady, earthy, _manly_ scent of him as she looked up to find his enveloping stare..._warm_ on her. There was even a hint of a smile in the corner of his mouth. She looked down where her hand was lit on his arms, which were still crossed over his chest. She didn't see him look down with her, nor did she see the softer smile that accompanied his look, but she did see his hands shift slowly free of their enclosure to meet his right hand with hers, holding it lightly like a gentleman would.

Unbelievably, their hands moved. It must have been his will, because they were moving up and she had no recognition of giving her hand permission to do so. His fingers folded beneath hers, clasping them to bring her knuckles proud and pulled her hand, displayed as such, up to his waiting..._lips, oh dear God, his mouth was on her hand!_ Her head was swimming, her heart beat heavily in her chest and her lips were dry from breathing, gasping her surprise at his courtly manner.

He smiled on her knuckles as he looked up and caught her wetting her lips with her tongue. The smile melted into a deep, velvety chuckle and he pulled her hand closer, to nestle against his chest beneath his arm curled around it. It forced her even closer still and she might have moaned a little. She wasn't sure. Was she dreaming? Was this real?

His dark, liquid voice caught her attention once more, "And what makes you think the board _wouldn't_ allow a relationship between _Master_," his voice dropped down at the word 'master' and continued but a hair's breadth away from her ear in an extremely sex-laden tone of voice, "and _Apprentice_?"

He slowly and triumphantly backed away with a self-satisfied smirk and waited for her response, which was quick coming.

A relieved breath of air broke into a smile on her face, nearly bringing tears to her eyes. Professor—_Severus_—was holding her hand—_had just kissed it!_—and wanted her as not only an apprentice, but also something more. More! "Really?"

His dark eyes were soft and steady as he reached up with his free hand to brush a loose curl away and cup the side of her face. Chuckling, he answered, "Don't be this thick as my apprentice. I'll have a hard enough time keeping the Board of Governors in check."

She scrunched her brow in wry rebuttal and shook their clasped hands between them, delighted that he wouldn't let go, "I'm not thick. I'm just surprised. At a lot of things."

He leaned forward just a hair, "Oh? What things are surprising you right now?"

Breathlessly, she replied, "You. You're surprising me." She angled up a little bit.

He smiled just a little bit closer and rejoined, "You do like your conjugations, don't you?"

She swallowed and slowly pressed into him, light-headed with the sensation of actually touching Severus' wool coat and feeling the delicious warmth rolling off of him in waves. "Con-conjugations?" Her mind quickly diverted to a similar word: conjugal.

Hermione took a deep, shaky breath and looked from his obsidian eyes to his sculpted mouth. His mouth was parted, his lips moist, the small bow and peaks of his upper lip captivating her imagination. How would his mouth feel on hers? How would it feel on _anywhere_?

His lips started moving and her brain had to run to catch what he was saying, "...fucked, fucking, fucker...fuck you," his voice deepened impossibly low and did silly things to her insides, "fuck me." Just hearing the obscenity dripping from his mouth like sin made her lean into him even more. How did they get this close? When? It had been crawling upon them and now their breaths commingled. That deliciously sexy mouth of his was only...

He took the initiative and kissed her, deeply. His hand was still at her face and slipped around to the back of her head, holding her in place for his suffocating, life-giving kiss. She could feel the scratch of his beard starting to grow in, and the rasping against her chin and cheeks only fevered her. Her free hand flew up to the back of his neck, lacing into his hair and pressed herself even harder into his kiss.

Their hands started to get in the way, still being clasped between them, but she was loathe to let go of him for even a second. She was terrified this was all a wonderful, erotic, delicious dream. Their lips tasted and moved, pressed and joined in a kiss Hermione knew would last in her mind forever. Without even thinking about it, her tongue ran out and licked the very tip of itself along the bottom of that sinfully sculpted upper lip of his. He groaned, yanked his hand from out between them, and crushed her body against his, delving his tongue deep only to retreat and start again...and again and again...

Somehow they were moving backwards, up against a workbench and she clung desperately to him as he let go to brace his arms against it. His kiss deepened and demanded more from her, pushing her backwards but not so much that she fell into the table or lost her balance.

He was so strong, holding both their weight upright against the table. Her libido soared and as one leg was pinned between his own, she found the other was not, so she lifted it and wrapped it around his rock hard thigh. They both cried out at the elevation of intimacy, rocking into each other in an unconscious search for relief. His cock was both soft and hard against her hip and her breasts tingled with each rocking rasp of his frock coat against the front of her blouse. His thigh pressed harder between her legs as one of his hands wrapped around the small of her back. The top of his thigh ridge moved against her hot center, making her keen with desire and flatten her sex against it. She couldn't help it when her teeth grazed his bottom lip, but he merely growled darkly and proceeded to scrape his teeth against her jaw, down her neck to nuzzle his lips at the join of her shoulder, finally suckling her skin at the indentation there.

Her body responded to the call of desire and started rocking against his leg, aching deliciously for more...and more...

Without warning, Severus grabbed her hips and lifted her up onto the table, pushed her legs apart and stepped between them.

Their breathing was heavy and sharp...but Severus had stopped. Hermione whined and reached up to his face in order to bring it down to hers again, but he simply grabbed her wrists and stood rigid. She stared at him in panic and once she swallowed to catch her breath, she asked, "What did I do? What's wrong? Why are you stopping?"

His dark chuckle resounded through his classroom as he let go of her arms. "Trust me, if I hadn't, I wouldn't have been able to."

"But—"

He slipped a finger over her lips and stepped into her once more, holding her very close.

She was utterly confused, so asked, "Why would you want to stop at all?"

The amused tilt of his head nearly broke into a smile, "So _impatient_, my little Gryffindor."

Her fingers slowly, slowly crept around his sides and gathered his teaching robes there into her fists. "I don't understand."

With a light kiss to her mouth, he explained, "You are still my student for the rest of this year. Save me _some_ propriety, please?"

Her brow tightened into further confusion, "So what was all this about, then?"

Severus looked nearly ready to giggle. That in and of itself was surprising, but what he said was even more so, as he stepped back from her and turned to the chalkboard. "Ah, well, I needed a sample of your handwriting, for one thing." He tapped the board with his wand and it neatly flipped and folded into a curl of parchment, landing in his hand. He Accio'd a quill from his desk, leaned over the table next to her, and signed his name with a flourish. He blew on the ink for a moment, tapped the scroll with his wand and handed it over to her.

"I also needed to be sure you felt the same way I do."

With a dubious and wary expression, Hermione unrolled the parchment and read through what appeared to be an Apprenticeship Contract. She didn't even need to sign it, it was already there. Looking over to him in shock, she blurted out, "How did you know?"

She watched him lean his hip against the table right next to her, fold one arm across his chest and support his other arm as his hand came up and tapped his temple. He smirked at her, "I knew you wanted it, but I couldn't figure out why you hadn't applied. Very nice selective Occlumency, by the way. Was it on purpose, or were you hiding it even from yourself?"

Her mouth fell open at his audacity, but was pleased with the outcome. She had no idea how to respond, so she just smacked him with the scroll, then grabbed his robes to pull him in for an almost-kiss. She stopped just shy of his lips and growled up at him, "Don't think this lets you off the hook for stopping what _you_ started."

He smiled and raised his eyebrows in mock-innocence, "I?"

"Yes, you. I can't believe you're going to make me wait all year to finish..." she waved between them and in the general direction of her panties, "_this_."

She could say he smirked, but his smile was too wonderfully filthy to relegate as a smirk. He leaned into her and purred, "I'm not the one who's been saying _fuck_ all day long."

Chuckling, "Fuck you!" into his mouth, she stole another kiss from her professor, soon to be master, who was already on his way to being her lover.

Neither one of them were aware of the third-year Gryffindor currently being taken to task by his Head of House for attempting to slip his Potions professor an Alexander Candy and mistakenly feeding it to the Head Girl instead. In fact, when the Head of Gryffindor floo'd Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes to chastise George for even inventing such a thing, she learned that it had a time table that was just about to expire.

Why bother telling the Head Girl about this? It would only upset her further and the young third-year seemed to truly understand the ramifications of his prank. She sent him along to detention with Filch and resolved to simply ask Hermione how she was doing in the morning.

After all, Hermione's luck was bound to change for the better, wasn't it?

_~Mischief Managed~_

A/N: Oh, this was so much fun to write! And so hard at the same time, but it was a great time had by all, I think! I called it an Alexander Candy, in reference to "Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day" by Judith Viorst. Special thanks again to Yiggersentia for the inspired twist at the end ;)


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